Songs For Palestine

A poet understands the blank page because they are a philosopher. The night sky isn’t an airstrike, it turns into starlight, a constellation beyond becomes a wildflower, a hostage becomes a freedom fighter. A poet has no country, a poet belongs to the world, and they speak on behalf of humanity, for the generation that came before, and the one that will follow. It isn’t war, it is a fight for humanity, for the return of a divine power to set the record straight. It isn’t conflict, it is more of a human nature to amplify the genetic predispositions for chronic illness, mood disorder, and manic depression. In that meeting room, that place, that space, holding the laws, in that tender room lies the rhythm and vibration of eternal rest. The poet is the holder of a moral compass. In the poet’s hands a straight path becomes a detailed map encompassing vision and interior, shapes of consolation that carry divine power.